


Bath Time

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dorky Flirting, Fluff, M/M, gratuitous bath scene, mention of previous injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo just wanted to bathe in peace. Thorin had the same idea. An understanding is reached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellakazelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellakazelle/gifts).



> this is not as porny as the description sounds.

It was a gloriously warm late summer day, and from where Bilbo was sitting on the steps leading to Beorn’s house, he could almost be back at the Shire. 

Well, if he ignored the fact that the the step he was sitting on was far too large for a hobbit - even on the bottom step his toes didn’t brush the grass, that the overly large house belonged to a giant who could change into a bear, and that within easy hearing distance, there was a horde of naked hairy dwarves having an extremely loud bath in the river.

Bilbo licked the last of the crumbs of the honey cakes off his fingers thoughtfully. The honey cakes were extremely sticky. He was filthy from trudging up mountains in the rain, scurrying through caves in the dark, and dashing through a forest that was _on fire_ to get to a certain stubborn dwarven king before the enormous white orc did. 

He needed a bath just as badly, if not more so, that his dwarven companions. His clothes were in even worse state, they needed a thorough scrubbing, and then he would have to hope that Beorn had some needles and thread so he could repair them. 

However, Bilbo still had flashbacks to the bath in Rivendell’s fountain that he had inadvertently witnessed his friends taking, before hurriedly accepting Lord Elrond’s kind offer of tea. If he got into the river anywhere near them, he’d be roped into all sort of rough-housing courtesy of Fili and Kili (and probably Bofur as well), and there was still enough of a proper Baggins in him to shy away from the idea of being naked in front of so many others. 

(If there was one among them that he wouldn’t mind being naked in front of, well, that was nobody’s business but his own, thank you very much.)

But yes, a bath, a private bath, was very much a necessity. So Bilbo headed back into the house, flitched a bar of soap from the supply that Beorn had left out for them, briefly mourned the lack of fluffy towels and hot water that would have been available to him in Bag End, and headed downstream of his noisy friends. 

But as he made his way to a more sheltered spot in the river, behind some overgrown greenery, he stopped in shock.

He was not the first to seek solitude for a private bath. Thorin had got there before him, and was stood waist-deep in the water, wet hair gathered all over one shoulder. Bilbo took in the muscles of his broad back, the stark black inked tattoos woven around his upper arms and between his shoulderblades, and the faint pink lines of old scars crisscrossing all over his body.

Bilbo took all of this in in a split second, and took a step back, intending to leave Thorin to the privacy he obviously desired, and find his own sheltered spot to have his own bath.

(Suddenly the cold water of the river seemed like it would be quite a good idea).

But Bilbo, not quite paying as much attention to his feet as he should have been, stepped on a twig and broke it. It only made a tiny noise, mostly hidden by the rush of the river, but it was enough to make Thorin turn towards him. 

Bilbo couldn’t help the squeaky noise he let out at the sight. Thorin’s muscles were even more lovely from the front, his chest was covered with an intriguing thatch of hair (and underneath the hair was an even more intriguing glint of metal through his nipples), and, a sight that made Bilbo’s heart clench, his side and shoulder was mottled with blue-green bruises and puncture wounds, courtesy of the white warg.

Bilbo was expecting him to be frowning at being disturbed. Instead he nodded at Bilbo companionably. “Master Hobbit,” he said, his tone far more welcoming than Bilbo would expect from someone whose bath had been interrupted.

“I was looking for somewhere to bathe,” Bilbo said, holding out his soap as proof.

Thorin looked at him, and Bilbo realised he was smiling. “So I see,” he replied. 

Thorin reached over his shoulders in an attempt to wash his wounds, and his hissed once in pain.

“Oh!” Bilbo said quickly. “Let me get Oin.”

“There’s no need,” Thorin said, and again his tone was amused. Bilbo thought that he could even describe it as fond. “He has already looked at them. The wizard had healed the worst of them, and Oin has given me some ointment to put on it.”

Thorin twisted to reach them again, and he hissed in pain, again.

“At least let me do it,” Bilbo said, frowning at Thorin, and starting to feel a little exasperated. “What good will the ointment do if you hurt yourself more trying to put it on?” 

Thorin froze for a long moment and Bilbo rolled his eyes at him. “Or I could get Dwalin, or one of your nephews, if you’d rather. Honestly, Thorin…” he trailed off when he realised that Thorin was both blushing a little, and coming closer to him, which meant that the water he was standing in was getting shallower and shallower…

Bilbo quickly snapped his eyes up to Thorin’s shoulder, the sight of the bruises pulling his mind away from the… more southerly direction that he had been heading in.

“Thank you,” Thorin said quietly, sitting on the edge of the riverbank. Bilbo sat behind him quickly, trying not to think about the fact that _Thorin_ was _naked_ in front of him. He'd got used to the lack of modesty among his companions, but this felt... different. 

“You’re sitting in mud,” Bilbo scolded him, but knelt down next to him, and took the pot of ointment out of his hand. 

“The river is right there,” Thorin replied, unconcerned. “I can always bathe again.”

The ointment smelt herbal and fresh, and after the initial flinch caused by cold, it seemed to ease Thorin’s aches as he relaxed and leaned minutely into to Bilbo’s touch. Bilbo swallowed, and said, “it’s no trouble, Thorin.”

It was true, except that Bilbo was in so much trouble and was falling more and more… in trouble with every minute they sat peacefully together, Thorin trustingly letting Bilbo touch him while his guard was down. 

“I didn’t mean for this,” Thorin said, “although I do appreciate it. I meant for defending me. For coming back. For thinking that we deserve a home.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat. He’d become oddly choked up, for some reason. “I’d say ‘anytime’ but I don’t think my heart could take another instance of you running into danger.”

“Perhaps, one day, we should talk about the kind of thing your heart can withstand,” Thorin said, his voice calm, the heated sidelong look Thorin gave him anything but. 

“Perhaps,” Bilbo agreed, unable to stop the wide smile creeping over his face. “But I still need to bathe first.” 

"Perhaps you need a hand," Thorin suggested, and Bilbo grinned.


End file.
